The Penny Blossom Similitude
by hiding duh
Summary: Penny/Sheldon. High on caffeine, Sheldon totally crosses a line. Or: coffee makes Sheldon randy.


For **mamozombie**, because I accidentally spoiled her for season three, and she'd only forgive me if I wrote her some Penny/Sheldon sex.

Started writing this from Sheldon's point of view, but my laptop shut down. In protest, I presume.

**Title**: The Penny Blossom Similitude  
**Fandom**: The Big Bang Theory  
**Characters/Pairings**: Penny/Sheldon  
**Summary**: High on caffeine, Sheldon totally crosses a line. Or: coffee makes Sheldon randy.  
**Rating**: PG-13... I think.  
**Spoilers**: Set immediately after The Work Song Nanocluster.  
**Word Count**: 2,000  
**Notes**: Oh, this is so wrong. I can't actually picture Sheldon having sex, so... yeah.

* * *

Right.

This isn't happening.

She's just... you know. Sleep-deprived and hallucinating. She's not apologizing profusely to Mrs. Vartabedian or tugging on Sheldon's half-ripped Flash costume or praying to Cht... Cuhuts... the flying spaghetti monster that the cops haven't taken out a warrant on Sheldon.

This is all, like... like, wait, there's a word for it, and Penny thinks it might be: a freakin' nightmare. Yeah, that.

"Penny."

She drags his stupid ass up another flight of stairs. "What, Sheldon."

"Penny, you have to call my mother," he whines, chin thumping against a step. "Before Jesus tells her what I did."

With a grunt, Penny hauls him up to the fourth floor, pausing to take a deep breath. "It's okay, Sheldon. You were wearing a costume. Plus, the Flash is really, really fast, right? No one saw."

"Oh, would that it were so," he sighs, sprawled on the carpet in front of her apartment. "With modern advancements in surveillance technology, I'm afraid it would take but a single screen capture to determine my real identity—"

"Look, Sheldon, I need to either sleep or make a thousand Penny Blossoms," she interrupts, poking his leg with her foot. "You in or what?"

He rolls over and looks at her. She thinks. That whole mask thing. "In where?"

She stares for a moment, then bends to grab his elbow, and drags him into her apartment. "C'mon, Flash, let's get you a glue gun and some rhinestones, okay?"

"Okay."

Oh, this is so stupid.

Hey, look, Penny's worked double shifts before, and lived through a bender or two in high school, but nothing beats this kind of tired. The kind of tired that makes her stupid.

Stupider? The most stupidest? Nah, that doesn't sound grammatically correct, but whatever, it's not like Sheldon can read her mind.

"That's not grammatically correct, Penny," he says, so she drops him to the floor.

"Okay, you need more coffee."

He gives her a belated, "Ow," then drags himself to the couch, leaning his head against the armrest. "Penny."

She stops pouring cup of coffee number nineteen. "Sheldon."

"Did you know that, in many cultures," he recites, slithering onto the couch and curling up with a stray barrette, "blossoms are vaguely sexual in meaning, essentially due to their resemblance—both in color and shape—to a human female's—"

"NO."

She tosses the coffee into the sink, 'cause, seriously, time to stop hallucinating. "Sheldon—"

"—and though Wolowitz has repeatedly attempted to explain a concept called," he makes a face, "the birds and the bees, I still maintain that traditional interpretations of—"

She slides onto the couch next to him, frowning, "No, no, hey, I don't need to hear this. It's just a flower, Sheldon. It's not a metaphor for anything."

His head plonks against the couch. "No. I am positive this is the reason why the East Rutherford Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Alliance ordered so many. Because it's symbolic. There is a distinctly dependable market here, Penny."

He takes off his mask. His hair is matted and messy. It makes Penny sleepy. Sleepier.

"I thought they just wanted something sparkly," she defends, eyeing him oddly. "That's why I bought so much glitter—Sheldon, why are you even bringing this up?"

He sighs, lethargic. "I've entered what you might commonly refer to as the crash stage of drug withdrawal." He twitches. "Caffeine has indeed made me hyper and unproductive." His eyes sort of fix on hers, unfocused. "I find sexual gratification extremely unproductive. Therefore, I am required, by article seven, section four, of my treaty with myself, to engage in a form of it. It's pure logic, Penny. You can't argue with logic. Or treaties."

Yeah, okay, sure, but he's, possibly literally, breaking her brain. "...what?"

He takes off another piece of his stupid costume. "I must have an optimized experience, so I choose you, Penny, as you have demonstrated proficiency in this area."

Penny's mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. "Are you asking me to have sex with you?"

"No," he says dismissively. "I would have to compose a contract first, obviously. And you would have to sign it. There is a notary in the building."

Penny blinks.

Uh. So. Um. What?

"You..." she starts, mouth suddenly dry. "You just... need, um, the big o, then?" She cringes, mentally scrubbing her brain. "Oh, god, there isn't enough therapy in the world."

"Penny," he tells her seriously, "while I appreciate your sudden interest in anime—and the far inferior manga—I was referring to the physiological property of an orgasm." He pauses to think. "Though as blatant Batman appropriations go, The Big O is not a wholly unacceptable one." His frown deepens. "After all, there are gynoids and Gotham is called Paradigm City. I like paradigms."

Penny swallows.

Yeah, soon as she wakes up, she's burning down every coffee place within a seven mile radius.

"Honey," she tries, "you're... overstimulated. Let's just get you to bed, and then pretend this never, ever happened, what do you say?"

He observes her intently for several seconds. "Yes, I suppose a bed will suffice. Even yours."

Her heart jumps to a really inappropriate place.

Crap.

This isn't happening.

'Cause, okay, Leonard thinks like this: Amazon has a one-day rush option, so Penny's website should, too. Other guys have hot girlfriends, so he should, too.

Howard thinks like this: if there is a god, he would've made women out of briskets.

Raj, she's sure, thinks like this: ...

Sheldon, though, Sheldon, what the hell is Sheldon thinking?

"Sheldon," she says, and she totally doesn't sound hesitant, okay, "you should... do this with someone you like—"

"But I like you, Penny."

He says it the way he says he likes onion rings and Battlestar Galactica. Okay, maybe with even less enthusiasm. So why the hell is her heart all melty and gooey and wow, how sad is this.

"You're Sheldon," she says. "You can't like me. Sheldon can't like me," she tells no one in particular.

"I most certainly can," he says, and hops off the couch, starting for her bedroom.

On auto-pilot, she rises and follows him in, 'cause, well, obviously, she's gotta talk some sense into him and she can't do that from the couch.

"If we're doing this," she says instead, "you're not allowed to be sarcastic or snide."

He gets under her covers, dead-center and stiff.

...oh dear god of crackers, she doesn't mean it that way.

"And you can't ask me to sing sea shanties," she continues, shimmying out of her shorts.

"Agreed."

She has a brief moment of panic as she slips in next to him. Because suddenly, she's got this horrible image of Howard and Raj and Leonard standing around them, fingers on their chins, contemplating how best to streamline this endeavor. Collaborating.

She jumps out of bed. "Yeah, okay, this isn't going to work. Sheldon, go home."

Cocooned in her comforter, Sheldon says, "We can't quit. It's not in accordance with the American spirit."

Oh. Well. If he puts it that way.

Tentatively, she lifts up one end of the covers and tucks herself in next to him.

"So..." she mumbles, staring at the ceiling.

"I like having my belly scratched."

Therapy. She can cancel her cable, and start seeing a therapist on a regular basis.

"Penny," he says after a long beat, "as you clearly demonstrated yesterday, I have a working knowledge of _important_ things. Ergo, you will need to be," his mouth twists as his accent deepens, "a big ol' five."

Sure, sure. She can do that. And then she can sleep for a week.

"Wait," she says instead, annoyed. "You think sex isn't important?"

He turns his neck a little to look at her. "I was made to believe it doesn't involve lasers, yes."

...okay, that's enough of that.

Determined, she pulls the comforter off him and straddles his bony thighs. He's still wearing most of that ridiculous costume, and it sobers her up a little.

"Sheldon."

His eyes focus, so maybe the caffeine's almost completely out of his system. "Penny."

"Close your eyes."

Suspicious and slightly awkward, he closes his eyes, then opens one to peek at her. "Why?"

"You don't need to see this," she threatens, then tugs his bottoms down a little too quickly. Not because she's excited or anything, of course. She just, like, hates the feel of foam and rubber between her...

Okay, she's done thinking.

She curves backwards a little, grabs the discarded comforter, and wraps it around herself like a cape, 'cause, no, no, she can't watch this, either. It's not right.

Her other hand, however, sneaks down his stomach, lower until she feels the need to tilt her head.

"You're not wearing underwear."

His voice sounds oddly familiar and sort of lucid. "I must be loyal to canon at all times, Penny."

Her lips twitch.

She slides up his body, pressing against him, and touches her fingers to his scrawny chest. With pursed lips, she bends over him, and thinks maybe, maybe she should talk about Star Wars or Star Trek or Star Jones to get him going, but hey. Look at that.

He makes a small whine in the back of his throat, fingers twisting her sheets.

Penny pauses, wondering if she should seriously do this right. Um, _properly_. Like, take off her panties and tank top and go all junior rodeo on his crazy ass.

Instead, she rocks slowly, watching his face.

She moves again, and his eyes snap open.

"Penny, stop."

Yup, she thought so.

"I believe it is customary to touch one's lips to another's during this act," he says and her stupid heart does stupid things.

"You want me to kiss you," she grins, raising an eyebrow.

He looks away. "For an optimized experience, one should—"

She kisses him.

So, yeah, no, this is happening, then.

She's making out with a giant robot child. And liking it.

Sheldon keeps his eyes open, and his mouth closed, and he doesn't exactly kiss back because the Internet probably didn't tell him to, so Penny lets go of the comforter and brings both hands between their bodies.

Startled, he opens his mouth, and she angles hers, and then, yeah, yeah, this could work.

Well, if she keeps him hopped up on coffee and neither of them sleeps ever again.

His skinny fingers clumsily brush her hips and—

—her phone rings.

They jump in unison.

The phone rings again.

Mortified, Penny scrambles off him and grabs for her cell. She listens for a moment, wide-eyed, then wordlessly hands the thing to Sheldon.

Super awkwardly, he reaches for the phone, listens, then shoots out of bed, curling around his hand and hissing, "No, Mother, I don't think letting Aunt Mildred re-baptize me will make baby Jesus happy—"

Nauseous... _nauseated_, Penny slinks off to the kitchen, and pours an entire pot of coffee down the drain. 'Cause it needs to die. Shh, shh, it's okay, it can't hurt anyone anymore.

"Penny."

She spins around, "Oh, god, look, Sheldon—"

"I think I've found a definite way," he says from the bedroom doorway, wrapped in her comforter, "to unify all related superstring theories."

Penny pauses. "...yay?"

He fidgets. "What I mean to say, Penny..." he looks at her, "...may I stay for coffee?"

Briefly, Penny thinks about starting her own coffee plantation.

And then she doesn't think at all.


End file.
